


Smoke

by EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Crying, Episode: s02e13 Voyage of Temptation, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, More Feelings than Porn?, Oral Sex, Pacifism, Porn With Plot, Smut, Tags Are Hard, This Angsty as Hell, Vaginal Sex, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:13:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24247855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12/pseuds/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12
Summary: He smelled like smoke. Loose gunpowder. Scorched earth. Metallic and subtle until his skin was pressed against hers and the scent filled every quick and quiet breath. At first she thought it was caught in his clothing. That the battlefield was embedded in the fibers there even though at first glance they appeared as clean and immaculate as she had expected. Now that his clothes were strewn somewhere in the dark of the cabin and still it lingered, she knew better.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze
Comments: 1
Kudos: 71





	Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> Some angsty as hell Obitine, but I think its probably overdue. Hope you all enjoy!  
> Please R and R, you can find me on tumblr at the same username :)

He smelled like smoke. Loose gunpowder. Scorched earth. Metallic and subtle until his skin was pressed against hers and the scent filled every quick and quiet breath. At first she thought it was caught in his clothing. That the battlefield was embedded in the fibers there even though at first glance they appeared as clean and immaculate as she had expected. Now that his clothes were strewn somewhere in the dark of the cabin and still it lingered, she knew better.

“Is something the matter?” He asked, and she looked down, scratching her fingers gently against his scalp. His eyes were fixed on hers, his steady progression down her body slowed from concern. And the overwhelming scent was gone for a moment. She smiled, trying to silence that part of the her mind that was uncertain about this in favor of the parts of her that scarcely wanted anything more than him. He pressed a soft kiss to her stomach, and she closed her eyes, feeling the scratch of his beard along her stomach as fingers began to trace soft circles on her thighs as they opened against his touch.

Hours earlier, they had rushed. It had been a race to a sort of blissful euphoria that seemed as though it might disappear at any moment if they fell behind its pull. She could feel now, even while lying on her silken sheets, the warmth of the wood paneling on her back, the warmth of his hands gripping the skin of her hip or on the back of her thigh as he pushed against her. His breath, hot on her neck. The weightlessness as he carried them to bed, falling back into the pillows and blankets that rippled like water as she shifted on top of him. The heat and the stretch and the hardness of him as they moved together, almost frantic. The taste of his lips on hers, cut short as their breath came in quickening gasps and her hips ground them together in slow circles. She had a vague memory of the smell then, of heat and powder and destruction, but it had been nothing against the flush of his skin, his fingers ghosting over her breasts, her waist, the rest of her as he gasped out his own pleasure underneath her.

Now was different. If her blood had been alive with fire earlier, spurred on by her brush with death and his admission, it was alive with a different sort of warmth now. It was building slowly. Yearning instead of burning out of control. But with a greater level of awareness.

She could feel the twist of the sheets between her fingers, the scratch of his beard, and the slick motions of his tongue. She could feel the breath building in her chest and her heart beating faster. His name pressed past her lips, and for a moment it tasted sweet there until it burned too. Only for an instant, but not an instant she could ignore.

But she didn’t push him away. She keened against him instead, enjoying a touch that was both comfortable and evidence of how much had changed since they had been together like this before. She gasped his name, the name that she had always called him in private, as she rolled over the edge against his mouth. His forehead, hair slightly damp with sweat, pressed against her abdomen as he caught his breath.

She reached down again, threading her fingers through the dark ginger hair. He seemed to revel in it for a moment, allowing his breath to slow completely before his eyes met hers again. He seemed waiting on her to speak, questioning if they should continue.

“You’re so far away,” She said and he smiled. He moved back up her body slowly, leaving a trail along her body. Her high had faded, but rather than satisfying as the one earlier had been, it had born a need for another as soon as it could come.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” He said as his eyes leveled with hers again. They were the same blue she had thought of often, that she had never found in her other suitors whom she had perhaps always unfairly judged against him. They reflected passion back at her, the same slow yearning that she felt for him, but they reflected more than that too. They were darker, harder. Everything he had seen in the past months as a warrior rather than a peacekeeper; a soldier more than simply a man. And she suddenly could not stand to meet his gaze any longer, the pain of that loss choking her.

But still, she did not push him away. She pulled him down closer, closing her eyes to him and capturing his lips with her own, shifting her hips until she could feel him pressing inside her again. It ached for a long moment; not physically where he felt familiar and good and solid inside of her, but in her chest where the acrid smell of smoke and ash and blood and pain was becoming overwhelming. She broke their kiss with a gasp, and let a single tear trail down her face as she twisted her fingers in his hair, pulling his face down to her neck where he pressed feather-light kisses as his hips started to cant into hers.

She tried to let all of it go, knowing now that it wasn’t real but knowing what it meant all at once. This would be the last time, had to be the last time. She hooked a leg over his hip, pulling him deeper, closer, further. He groaned softly and she wondered if he could feel it too. The finality of this moment, how separate their paths truly were now. She wandered if he could feel the scars that lingered on his skin.

He groaned softly into her ear, and she felt his hands snake down her body, pressing between them, chasing her pleasure. And she let him, letting the pure bliss of him and him and only him send jolts of electricity rippling through her body. Between his hands and hips that kept their rhythm and the touch of his lips and the whisper of her name against the skin of her neck, it was enough to overpower the pang of loss she felt, knowing how far away he was now. She let it wash over her like waves, digging her fingers into his back as she lost herself in it.

He followed her soon after, trembling slightly as he held his weight off of her. She almost welcomed the feeling, the weight that showed that he was real and the horrible, lingering remnants of the war were her imagination. For a moment, both facets existed in limbo until he moved inside her again extracting himself to move off of her and he was so very real to her. He cleaned them up dutifully, bundling up the soiled duvet from underneath her legs before he rejoined her in the bed.

“You’re crying.” He said simply, and she realized that what had been a single tear was now dozens that rolled off of her cheeks. “I can leave.” He offered softly, even as his fingers threaded through hers in the space between them.

“No,” She said. She rolled onto her side to look at him, seeing the roughness had faded from his eyes, “Stay.”

For tonight. For only tonight. For at least tonight. She lifted their joint hands and pressed a kiss to the back of his before letting them drop again. They laid apart on the bed until they had cooled down, and then, sensing his hesitancy still, she moved to his side, putting her head on the flat plain of his chest over his heart, entwining one leg and draping an arm across his bare stomach. His arm looped around her back, his lips pressed a soft kiss to her hair, and she listened as he faded into a soft sleep. She tried to follow him, let the tiredness she felt wash over her and pull her under, but she couldn’t. Even now, in his sleep, the acrid tang of the war clung to him, burning her nose and mouth and filling her ears with screams and sirens and shouts that kept sleep at bay. And still she clung to him, let the overwhelming feeling of that pull her under eventually where she could dream instead of days past when their love wasn’t tainted by their lives and the feel of him was only him and not the violence that participated in now. Where the man she had taken into her bed and body tonight was the young man who had carried her to safety on Draboon and given her the waterflower that she had pressed and still kept and who had learned to make love with her in stolen moments and that still made her heart hammer when she thought of him too when she was alone. She needed those moments so that when morning came and the war still had its hold on him, she could let him go again.


End file.
